run to be someonehttps://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com
Thu, 10 Aug 2017 19:18:51 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/https://runtobesomeone.files.wordpress.com/2017/02/cropped-img_0330-1.jpg?w=32run to be someonehttps://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com
3232Good Handshttps://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com/2017/08/09/good-hands/
https://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com/2017/08/09/good-hands/#respondWed, 09 Aug 2017 19:37:42 +0000http://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com/2017/08/09/good-hands/Continue Reading →]]>Two images. One taken more than 70 years before the other, but closely linked.

The first is of a group of boys at an Aberdeen Grammar School Cadets summer camp in 1943, somewhere in Scotland.

The boy on the front row, smiling, with another boy’s hands on his shoulders, is my Dad.

He had been sent with his younger brother Bill to board in Aberdeen whilst his Mother was busy running the family business in Peterhead. His Father was serving overseas.

The second image is his Grandson, Harry (on the left) from today’s local paper. Proud of his fantastic and well earned exam results – six highers all at ‘A’.

Both seem to be glowing, bolstered by the confidence that comes with knowing that they have the support and encouragement of their whole family.

My Dad would have been 85 today. He would have been over the moon for Harry.

And quietly, he’d again be reassured that the family’s future is in good hands.

]]>https://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com/2017/08/09/good-hands/feed/0img_0285runtobesomeoneFor the love of ithttps://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com/2017/06/26/for-the-love-of-it/
https://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com/2017/06/26/for-the-love-of-it/#respondMon, 26 Jun 2017 21:24:58 +0000http://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com/?p=237Continue Reading →]]>It’s a mild addiction, running. Endorphins, the brains opium, coursing through the system during and afterwards. The runners high. Brilliant!

Twice this week, I’ve seen its impact.

To go back a step. A few months ago we met Scottish 1500 metres champion Myles Edwards.

He explained that his training took him to the high altitude camps in Kenya where starved of oxygen, he worked to optimise his talent.

Warm hearted by nature he took an interest in the local community and what he saw motivated him to help. And with a friend, he set about raising money to provide better housing, education and life chances for children in the area.

My club West End Road Runners was inspired by his story and by the opportunity to do something to support this work. So we introduced a new run which will hopefully grow and become an annual fixture in Scotland’s running calendar.

The first event last week attracted runners from throughout Glasgow and raised a good amount of money. A trail run followed by cakes on the longest night of the year in the beautiful Mugdock Forrest. What’s not to like?

My work took me to London for the evening. So I followed the event on Facebook.

And I was struck by the photos. Apart from one (taken during a health and safety briefing) they are unrelentingly smiley. As runners highs go, a combination of running, helping people and cake could well be Class A strength.

The second runners high came this weekend.

In common with many people trying to do their best I follow a schedule.

But not at the moment. I’m on a month off.

And a park run this weekend with some colleagues at work and a running buddy was therefore fun.

No particular preparation, glancing at my watch during the race or post-mortem afterwards.

But in the teeth of disappointment that theory feels like utter bollocks.

Here’s the thing though. It actually isn’t.

Firstly let me say this. In the grand scheme of things, how you feel as a runner has no consequence.

There are FAR more important, life changing, difficult and desperate issues and challenges facing people in the world.

But running can give you moments of realisation. And I had one this week.

The race started well. Dumbarton 10k is my PB course. A fast, flowing route with a quality field of club runners. You race with people you recognise to the extent that you know how you are getting on just by looking around you.

I was running with the amazing West End Road Runners and specifically with Shona Doherty, a fabulous and talented runner finding her legs again after London Marathon.

It’s been a busy few months at home and at work but I was excited to be racing again. Privately I’d targeted something just under 40 minutes.

At around the 4k mark my legs threw the towel in. As hard as I tried I couldn’t move them. And my group, one after another, moved past me and off into the distance. For data nerds, it looked like this. I finished the race in a time which I wouldn’t have been proud of 5 years ago. A full two minutes below my PB.

Fatally holed below the waterline by a lack of natural talent. Slowed by having the build not of a wiry, skelfy, sinewy running machine, but of a farmers son. Frequently outpaced by Rolo, a large, lumbering Labrador, who in dog years is even older than me.

It’s very much a case of doing the best with what I have. So what’s the point? Why persevere? Simple. Running benefits me in more ways than I can count. It’s taught me lessons which I try to reuse, recycle, re-employ elsewhere:

You get out what you put in

Frustratingly for me, there is no short cut to being the best I can be. No hidden reserve which I can call on when required. So I’ve learned that there is a clear correlation between hard training, four or five days a week and decent running. Dammit.

On the plus side however, hard work can compensate for lack of natural ability. ‘Going the extra mile’ is a phrase bandied about by lazy theorists who’ve never actually run a mile. But extra performance definitely comes from that. And that’s a transferable lesson running has taught me.

Everyday Greatness

Some people get their inspiration from art, politics or irritating reality show celebrities. I get a lift from being around people who I can see are showing determination to make progress and succeed every day.

In my running club West End Road Runners there are plenty of them. People who are taking big steps forward with their running and as a result, earning the support and respect of their peers. A network based on momentum. It shows me what’s possible and for me, seeing everyday greatness is immensely powerful and motivating.

Dealing with Setbacks

Running can be unforgiving. Believe me. You can train for weeks, pushing yourself day after day to prepare your body and brain to a level which gives you confidence on the start line. Then you turn into the wind, the remnant of a storm that’s blown in from the Atlantic. And there’s not much you can do, other than to do your best.

You know that you can’t do any more, and that there will be another race around the corner, and you know that you are in good shape. And you move on. It’s not much of a problem compared to real and serious setbacks which you could face. But it prepares you for when something more serious happens. And that has real value.

So run! I think it helps you be someone.

]]>https://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com/2017/04/02/running-whats-the-point/feed/0img_0286runtobesomeoneSeeing the Starshttps://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com/2017/03/10/seeing-the-stars/
https://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com/2017/03/10/seeing-the-stars/#commentsFri, 10 Mar 2017 22:20:45 +0000http://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com/2017/03/05/seeing-the-stars/Continue Reading →]]>My father died. When my brother called with the news I asked him to repeat what he’d said. Was he sure that Dad hadn’t just fallen, or hurt himself?

We had a celebration of his life at the local church in Fyvie close to where he’d brought us up. For me, the desire to explain what he had contributed, to preserve Dad’s life’s work, over-rode everything else.

I wanted his character and his strengths to be a matter of record, so that our children can reflect on them. And I wanted to make sure that my mother, my wife, my children, brother, sisters were fine.

On that day this need to lay out his character and contribution, and to represent him properly outweighed taking the time to properly and personally grieve for him.

I wonder if this is right. Whether I should feel different. Whether there is a pattern or template which I am ignoring. I don’t know.

These are early days though. We’ll see what happens over the coming weeks. What I know is that I had the benefit of my father for 52 years. I am so grateful.

In the church at Fyvie there is a beautiful stained glass window made by Tiffany in New York. It has a number of hidden stars in it. As kids, we used to spend our time trying to find them instead of listening to the Minister.

I felt the young one’s discomfort and sadness in having to listen to people like me talking about Dad at a funeral. So I told them that they might want to try counting the stars. My son Jamie found five!

]]>https://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com/2017/03/10/seeing-the-stars/feed/1img_1707runtobesomeoneRun everywhere…to get somewhere https://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com/2017/02/19/run-everywhere-to-get-somewhere/
https://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com/2017/02/19/run-everywhere-to-get-somewhere/#respondSun, 19 Feb 2017 07:30:57 +0000http://runtobesomeone.wordpress.com/2017/02/19/run-everywhere-to-get-somewhere/Continue Reading →]]>Growing up on a farm in the North East of Scotland was all about animals, machinery, woods, hillsides, dens, bike tracks and football on the lawn. Safe space for miles around.

Power cuts, milk straight from the bulk tank, bonfires and Bennachie, the hill I could see from my bedroom window. Deep deep snow and dusty summers. Tattie picking, roguing barley and later, tractor driving to help with the harvest.

A noisy family. Politics, pratfalls, laughter. Curbing each other’s excesses. How it should be.

But I don’t remember running. Not as a kid, not at school or college. It wasn’t discussed. I didn’t know anyone who ran and I never saw anyone running. Apart from at school sports day with an egg and spoon or in the three legged race.

And so for me running wasn’t a ‘thing’. It’s what you did if you needed get somewhere.

The next door farm had a tennis court. I think my friend Mac and I were the only people who used it. In fact I’m certain that was the case because the owner, Mr Mackie, made it clear that Mac and I were responsible for brushing and maintaining it.

And sometimes in winter, my Dad and Mr Mackie went up on the hill with a tractor. Mounted on the back was a steel frame on which sat a large cable reel. Another pulley wheel at the top of the hill and a long loop of rope stretched between the two which you hung on to. Inverurie’s very own ski tow.

We took our sledges or even better, sheets of corrugated iron roofing and we borrowed skis from the local scout troop. This was long before the Health and Safety Executive.

What was important was that we had to be home before dark (Essential. No street lights), or up and away in the morning in time to catch the school bus.

So a lot of my time was spent running or cycling to get to where I needed to be. To the tennis – half a mile away; to the bus stop – 2 miles away; round the farm buildings to the dairy to get the milk – about 2 minutes.

And maybe that’s the way it should be as a kid. Run everywhere. To get somewhere. Then when you are old enough, take it more seriously. And make it a thing.

Ps Mac now runs the great ice cream company Mackie’s of Scotland, founded by his Dad, Mr Mackie. The factory is next door to the tennis court. I hope someone is still brushing it. The painting is of Bennachie taken from the hill behind my fathers farm at harvest time.

At parties I’m the one who’ll arrive with an escape plan. The one who can’t hide the overwhelming sense of relief when I recognise someone I know. The one who can’t remember names, stories or punchlines. The one who nods and smiles but can’t really hear a thing above the music.

So why am I drawn to running with a club and why my club, West End Road Runners? My starting point was a bet. Dinner with friends. All runners. Droning on about their aches and pains, their training, their bloody garmin watches. Oh and worst of all, their running club.

And so I blurted out that my brother had asked me to join his team to take part in a quirky event called The Nairnshire Challenge, a 30 mile duathlon from the highest point in Nairnshire to the sea. My friends rounded on me. ‘You?’ ‘Never!!!’. And crucially: ‘If you manage that, you can call me at the finish and I’ll say ‘Graeme, YOU are the iron man.’

And that was the start of it. I did the Nairnshire with Steve. I found that I could hold a pace for a few miles. I enjoyed the peace, the thinking time, the runners perspective (‘blimey,I never saw that branch’, or ‘that bloke walking towards me needs to look up from his phone. No really, PLEASE look up from your phone!’)

I entered a few 10k’s and did fine. Maxing out at 42 minutes and being quite happy with that. But then I started to plateau. I couldn’t improve. I didn’t know how to. And my interest started to wane. I cycled a bit and enjoyed that. But I’d reached a crossroads.

I didn’t really want to, but I knew that I should. And I joined the local running club. And it gave me what I needed. For the first time I had people round me, some much faster and some slower, who took strength and confidence from running with other people. It’s powerful and it gave new impetus.

I achieved my running goals at various distances and reset them, then achieved and reset. And I continue to do so – there’s still so much to do. I’ve stuck to coaching plans and reaped the rewards. But over that I’ve learned a lot about people. I’ve experienced what real support feels like. And I’ve built deep friendships based on shared experiences at training and at races. Agonising and celebrating.

West End Road Runners is set up to offer the support which I received. Use it and you’ll be a better runner. That’s the minimum you can expect.

Our opinions are being formed by others. Social media is now so powerful, so pervasive. It’s turned many of us into extremists. No subtlety, shades of colour. Just black and white, right and wrong, amazing and tragic. It’s shouting not talking.

So we get what we get. This is the environment that breeds senseless and sticky ear worms like ‘Drain the Swamp’, ‘Take Back Control’ and so on. Shorthand for those who no longer have the patience to commit to detailed or reasoned argument.

And for many just next to this online shouting sits pictures of their families, their memories, their experiences, their pictures. Where they wish each other ‘happy birthday’ and where they capture new moments so that they are recorded and found easily years after.

All this noise and bile has become interwoven with public declarations of how we feel about the people who really matter in our lives. Some would argue that this is activism. But it’s not. It’s too easy. Activism is hard. It requires commitment. It takes more than angry Facebook posts. Activists might sometimes be utterly wrong and misguided but at least they are whole hearted.

Yet it’s still easy to find real kindness, care and support. And it’s still much more powerful than anything we ‘like’. I see it every day when I run. Runners benefit hugely from shared experiences with other runners. As a community they don’t judge, they encourage. They don’t criticise, they applaud. They celebrate success and it’s thrilling when part of their community achieves what he or she wants.

Runners also don’t care where other runners come from, what they do, how old they are, what colour they are or how they vote. It doesn’t matter. And it makes running a richer experience. If you work, have a family and a close circle of friends, meeting people isn’t top priority. But running let’s you do this and it’s fantastic and enriching. It’s also important.

It seems to me that the developed world is polarising and that division for some people, particularly those who rack up thousands of Twitter posts arguing anonymously, this is progress. Maybe everyone should just go for a run.

For me it’s a new experience with family or close friends, maybe some running at the side, or even at its centre. So this weekend scored well. Jamie and I saw fantastic running, I ran (albeit in Hyde Park) and got to understand how world class runners work. The race day preparation, the to-the-minute organisation, the system.

My company, Müller, has become a partner for British Athletics. And this weekend we sponsored the Müller Anniversary Games at the Olympic Park in London.

World records, season bests, personal bests – unbelievable athletes peaking with two weeks to go before the Rio Olympics. Scottish athletes were extraordinary. Laura Muir broke Dame Kelly Holmes’ British 1500 metres record. Andy Butchart took on a quality international field in a fast 5,000 metres, beating everyone apart from Mo Farah. He’d have been happy with a top 6, according to a friend of a friend from Dunblane.

And a word about another er, daughter of a friend of a friend. Eliza McCartney, an Auckland pole vaulter will appear at her first Olympics in two weeks aged just 19. Think about that. 19. When most kids are heading off on their first train wreck summer holiday with their mates. She finished third, despite being up most of the night before with food poisoning. Awesome.

So what can a world class athlete expect when he or she pitches up at an event like this? Well.. They get their own private warm up track, identical surface and no more than 50 metres from the stadium track – space where they can spend time with coaches, get warm, comfortable. This track is new – during the Olympics in 2012 the athletes used a facility which was so far away they had to hitch rides on golf buggies to get to the stadium.

Athletes also have to be good at timekeeping because if they’re not, they might not make it on to the track. It was explained to me that if, say, Mo Farah pitched up at the First Call station at 1607hrs instead of 1606hrs, he’d have to BEG to race… I doubt it. But check this out:

But most of all what I’ll remember are two moments. Jamie politely but firmly telling Lord Coe that the seat he was about to sit on was his Dad’s (I wouldn’t have minded).

And Laura Muir, the morning after breaking the British 1500 metres record, sitting quietly in the stand taking photos of the scene of her amazing run, with her Mum and Dad exuding the kind of quiet contentment that comes with knowing that your kids really are capable of amazing things.